The clock had just struck midnight. The village was wrapped in a thick blanket of darkness, the kind that pressed heavily on rooftops and made the trees look like monsters in the shadows. Everyone was asleep—everyone except CUTIS.
CUTIS, the gentle farmer known for taking care of baby animals, lived in a small wooden house at the edge of the forest. He was normally brave. After all, he’d rescued baby monkeys from wild dogs, climbed trees to return lost kittens, and even once stared down a furious goose who thought CUTIS had stolen her eggs. But tonight, something felt… wrong.
The wind howled strangely through the trees. It wasn’t the usual breezy whisper—it was a cold, whistling screech that curled through the cracks of his window. CUTIS shivered. He got out of bed, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and tiptoed toward the door. His flashlight, old and half-working, flickered faintly.
“Maybe it’s just the wind,” he muttered to himself. But as he stepped onto the porch, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.
Standing in the middle of his yard, completely still, was Baby Monkey.
But something was off.
Baby Monkey never left the house at night. And he never stood so still. CUTIS stepped closer.
“Baby Monkey?” he whispered.
The figure turned.
It was Baby Monkey—but his eyes looked wide and terrified. He held out a tiny hand, pointing toward the trees. CUTIS followed his gaze, and that’s when he saw it.
A pair of glowing red eyes blinked in the forest, watching them.
CUTIS froze.
Then he did what any reasonable farmer would do in the middle of a terrifying night.
He screamed.
“HELP! PLEASE, HELP ME!”
He scooped Baby Monkey into his arms, ran back into the house, and slammed the door shut.
He didn’t stop screaming for help for a solid minute.
But no one came.
Everyone in the village was asleep, and his house was far from the others. CUTIS locked every door and window, then huddled in the kitchen with Baby Monkey clinging tightly to his chest.
The red eyes… they didn’t disappear. He could still see them through the kitchen window—hovering, blinking, moving slightly back and forth. CUTIS didn’t believe in ghosts or monsters, but this didn’t feel natural.
Baby Monkey started making soft whimpering sounds. CUTIS looked down at him.
“Hey, hey… it’s okay. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
But he was shaking.
To make matters worse, the power flickered. And then, with a loud buzz—everything went black.
No lights.
No fan.
No phone charger.
No signal.
CUTIS was now officially in a horror movie.
He tried to stay calm. “Okay. Okay. Breathe. What would I do if this was just a raccoon?”
But raccoons didn’t have glowing red eyes. And they didn’t stare like that for ten straight minutes without moving.
Then came the sound.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Something—or someone—was tapping on the window. Slowly. Deliberately.
CUTIS held his breath. He didn’t dare move.
But Baby Monkey, brave as ever, slid off his lap, grabbed a wooden spoon from the kitchen counter, and marched toward the window.
“NOOO!” CUTIS whisper-screamed.
But Baby Monkey pulled the curtain aside.
Nothing.
No eyes. No tapping. Just blackness.
CUTIS tiptoed to the window to confirm. Yep. Nothing.
“Maybe… maybe it left,” he whispered.
Just then—BAM!
Something hit the front door with a loud thud. CUTIS and Baby Monkey both screamed. CUTIS grabbed a broom and pointed it at the door like a sword.
“Whoever you are—GO AWAY!” he shouted.
Then came the voice.
“CUTIS! It’s me! Open the door!”
It was Grandma Hoa, his neighbor from two farms down.
He opened the door cautiously, and there she stood in her long nightgown, holding a flashlight and a big stick.
“I heard you yelling from my house! What’s going on?”
CUTIS blinked. “There were red eyes in the forest. Staring at us. Tapping on the window. The power went out…”
Grandma Hoa stepped inside and gave Baby Monkey a cuddle. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”
The three of them stepped out onto the porch. CUTIS’s heart pounded. What if the eyes came back?
But there was nothing.
The wind had calmed. The night was still. The forest stood quiet.
Then Baby Monkey tugged at CUTIS’s shirt and pointed toward the barn.
They walked together, slowly, hearts still racing. CUTIS pushed open the barn door.
And inside, huddled in a pile of hay, were… glowing red lights.
Not eyes.
Lights.
From a broken old toy robot.
“That thing?” Grandma Hoa said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what terrified you?”
CUTIS blinked again. He walked over and picked up the robot. It blinked red, then made a soft beep. Baby Monkey giggled and poked its head.
“It must have been buried in the hay. The wind blew open the barn door and activated the toy,” CUTIS said, half embarrassed, half relieved.
“But the tapping on the window?” he asked.
A goat walked past, headbutting the porch railing. Grandma Hoa snorted. “That explains that.”
CUTIS looked at Baby Monkey. “And the staring?”
Baby Monkey shrugged like, Don’t look at me!
They all burst into laughter. The midnight terror was over.
CUTIS hugged Baby Monkey tight. “Next time I panic… remind me to check for toy robots first.”
Grandma Hoa patted him on the back. “And maybe keep your barn door closed.”
That night, the three of them stayed up drinking tea, giggling about the whole thing. Baby Monkey fell asleep curled up on a pile of blankets, holding the robot like a trophy.
And though the night had started in terror, it ended in warmth, laughter, and the comforting realization that even the scariest moments sometimes turn out to be just… a goat, a robot, and an overactive imagination.
Still, CUTIS made sure to sleep with a flashlight—and double-locked the barn door the next night.
Just in case.
